The Case of the Missing Dog
by TheLittleOtaku
Summary: John and Sherlock have feelings for each other. They just don't know about the other. This is their journey for completion.
1. Chapter 1

One of the few times Sherlock has ever shown compassion was one of the cases we had worked together on. Mostly because he couldn't handle the emotional troubles at the time. But besides that he could've done it himself, but of course, like all other times, he dragged me along at 3:46 in the morning.

"Sherlock," I rubbed my eyes. "Remind me why are all of your cases are this early?"

He grumbled as he looked out the cab window. He never liked talking in cabs after the first case; I don't think he'll ever trust another cabbie again.

"I'm sorry I couldn't hear that, repeat, mind you?"

"I said," he swished around to look at me, "that they only called at his time because their daughter wouldn't sleep and they were tired of it."

"Right." I think it's because he likes seeing me in my rumbled clothing looking like I just finished- No John, Sherlock is married to his work, he'd never think of it voluntarily.

He nods and continues to look out the window with a solemn look on his face.

I paid the cabbie as usual as Sherlock ran to the door in an attempt - it's not really attempt is it - to beat me to the top of the stairs. I sigh as I toe off my shoes, reach down to rearrange Sherlock's shoes, and pick up his coat that's lain rumbled on the floor. I can hear the violin playing, and I can hear clanking coming from in the kitchen.

Mrs. Hudson emerges from the kitchen with some tea and a biscuit as Sherlock starts arranging a new composition. I sigh again as I look to Mrs. Hudson.

"It'll be a long night dear, drink your tea and go to bed. I can already see your eyes drooping from here." She pats my back after she lays down the tray and leaves the apartment.

It seems I have chronic sighing as I sigh for the fifth time this evening when I sit in my armchair, watching Sherlock dance around, completely oblivious to his surroundings, with his partner, the violin.

It's quite relaxing to see him waltzing and humming. It's like a dance, a solo ballet that is only performed for me.

Yes, I had realized my feelings, the second night I was here in fact. Normally loud noises in the middle of the night that woke me up would annoy me to no ends, especially because I was no longer in the Middle East. But it was actually quite lulling to hear the screech of the strings against the bow, and in no time I was back asleep.

What got me in the end was how I didn't have to explain my past – except for the sister-not-brother thing - how he knew I had suffered enough, but was still looking for the thrill. The look he gave me explaining he wouldn't mind someone to help him along on cases, because apparently I was the one who caught his mistakes. It also helped that I didn't annoy him either, or that I thought of him as a freak or some supernatural being.

He still misses the few human emotions that come into play when figuring out 'who did what and why'. He has the science down, but not the improbability of humans.

For example last night - or really, really early this morning – the case was one of a missing dog. The little girl was devastated and he knew she had clues to whom had done it, but his way of getting answers was to shake her by her shoulders and yell in her face. I'm not someone who's good with kids, but I know that is not the way to get a child to talk.

So I pushed him aside, told him to shut up and I gently took her hand in mine, stroked my thumb along the back of her hand. She started to calm down, and looked at me, then told me what she knew. For some unexplainable reason I had a lolli in my pocket, so I gave it to her, patted her head, and shooed her back to her parents.

Sherlock gave me this shocked expression; I didn't know he possessed the means to make that face. He masked his face again, cleared his throat turned and went to sit in the cab that was waiting for us for about an hour. Although we - I - did promise him a big tip when we got out at Baker Street.

I stopped playing the violin to see John snoring in his chair, his favorite mug dangling dangerously from his fingers, and a few stray biscuit crumbs on his jumper. I put the violin away and crept over to his sleeping body. I silently and gently took the cup from his hands and placed it on the table, away from danger. It seems he's been falling asleep more often and earlier than usual. It's odd, it might be because of his increased hours at surgery, but I'm not completely certain.

It could be from his lack of breakfast every morning. I noticed that he constantly gets up later than he says he should, and is spending more time in the shower than necessary. It's getting on my nerves because he's ruining my routine of experiments and cleanliness.

He snores a bit louder than before and I jerk away, not wanting to be caught in the act of intimacy. I search the rest of his body and notice that I have an unusual interest in it. I know that I am bisexual and I accept it, but I don't like the fact of falling in love with a flat-mate, friend at that and the only one. Although, John would interrupt me and say that I was friends with Lestrade.

John, his face right now is peaceful, but when he's awake he is always showing emotions. Or so says everyone else, I can't tell. I can only see if he's in pain or not. I base my emotional guesses on his body language. It's much more dependable than the face because you can school your face into any emotion you want, but you have no conscious control over which emotion your body plays out.

Besides that his face is unusually peaceful on me. I always get heated at any inconsistencies or misdemeanors, but when he places his hand on my shoulder and puts on his grow-up-Sherlock face, I calm and look at it again. He always fixes the error in work- when there are some (rarely) - and they are almost always the emotional aspect of the case at hand. I have learned recently that I cannot function properly without him around anymore. Because of that, I have learned that I now depend on a human and have developed feelings toward him. I wouldn't name the emotion yet, because I am unable to determine it.

I see John stir and I think I should wake him so he can move to his room so his shoulder won't hurt him later.

"John," I shake his other shoulder and he slowly blinks his eyes open.

"Yes, Sherlock?" I rub my eyes as I sit up in my chair. I roll my shoulder and find it a bit stiff; I figure I had fallen asleep again.

"I finished the case," he stood up after seeing I was fully aware and walked back to the other side of the room to pick up his phone.

"Explain." We both have an understanding that when I say 'explain' I mean 'tell me the answer so we can get it over with'. I never actually want him to explain what goes on in his mind, because 1. I wouldn't understand a thing and 2. It wouldn't affect the outcome either way.

He clears his throat and adjusts the collar of his shirt, "The girl said that the dog would have no reason to run away and so did her parents. After examining the house I came to the same conclusion, the dog was positively spoiled; there was no reason to it. That's ruled out."

"So it was a kidnapping. 'Why would someone kidnap a dog?' To hurt the family, the little girl, the parents. To make money, to break the law for fun. The last one is ruled out because then they would have done it during the day and would have returned it later. Money is ruled out because the dog wasn't purebred and purebreds bring the most money and because that was a rich neighborhood there were plenty of purebreds. So the last option and the answer, is to hurt the family."

"Now why would someone want to hurt the family? Revenge. Who wants revenge on a sweet little girl and her parents. Someone who was wronged by the family. Perhaps someone working on the property and whose jobs was ruined by them. That means someone who was wronged by them."

"That leaves few people. The gardener, pool cleaner, and maid. The gardener was gone on a trip to Florida and still is. Pool boy and maid. Dog was said to hate all women it met except his family, the daughter and her mother. And also the dog was not allowed outside, plus the pool boy is allergic to dogs. Not major, just some sneezing. The dog was said to have bitten the maid and she filed a complaint. The family decided that because she can't work safely with the dog they'd have to let her go. That leaves reasonable doubt that she was the one to kidnap the dog."

He sniffs and looks down at me from his perch on the arm of the couch. I nod and mutter, "brilliant," and move to the hall to call the family up and to text Lestrade to search the maid's house.

After Sherlock had calmed from the high of solving case - even as simple as a kidnapped dog - he had gone into the kitchen to start a new experiment. I think this one is going to involve some sort of frozen body part and mushrooms. I ignore the sudden sound of breaking glass and the curse that followed.

It feels natural now, the feel of normalcy. Of course, Sherlock is still restless without a case. But I've been told by everyone at the Scotland Yard, that ever since I moved in, he's been calmer and more serene. It has also come to my attention that he buys less nicotine patches. Whenever I get stressed about his well being, I remember that I'm the one that is helping him break his nicotine addiction. I honestly don't know how, but I am.

The cursing was a result of the skin damaging chemical in the mushroom that had broken the glass in the kitchen. I was trying to put the rotting mushroom in the tube so I could put the frozen foot on top. The experiment was to see what happened to the bottom of the foot while sitting on the counter for a week. If it was for longer than a week then I know John will throw it out - for sure.

I always have to make the experiments less than a week, or I have to hide it in my room. Although if its a particular stenching one, John'll root around the flat until he finds it (always in my room). That's the only time he ventures in there. 'And for a good reason too,' a quote straight from John's mouth. Apparently the state of my room is appalling, but to me it's perfect, because I know where everything is. Always. John had once tried to clean it up while I was away, but I think he learned his lesson when I threw his laptop out the window and hid the rest of his beloved belongings.

Mrs. Hudson was always tolerant of my experiments before John, but that was only because she didn't stay in the flat with me, and I had Mycroft paying the rent on time. She didn't care, as long as she had her money and the flat wasn't trashed beyond repair.

I was surprised when John didn't come running in response to the cussing spewing from my mouth. But I suppose that he was still quite tired, even though he had a good hours rest in his chair. I let it go and went to clean myself up in the bathroom. I grabbed the anti-biotic cream and a plaster then fixed myself up.

I guess I have to clean up the glass so John isn't immobilized tomorrow morning. I feel like sometimes I should feel bad for him, having me as a flat-mate. But I suppose if he was tired of it he'd move out. He isn't the kind to hide anything like that.

I heard John walk by to travel up the stairs to his room. I had used his room as an lab room before he moved in. It needed a few days of airing before he could move in. The smell is still lingering in the corners but I guess he doesn't mind that much. Honestly if he were to ask to switch rooms with me I wouldn't mind. The only hassle would be moving my belongings to the upstairs room.

John didn't have many personal items, just a few pictures and a therapeutic pillow for throwing his arm and leg around while sleeping. He told me it was to help with his shoulder, it was supposed to relieve some of the pressure off of it. That pillow has it pretty lucky, getting straddled by John every night, maybe even gets to experience some wet dreams of his.

I'm starting to get off track, I need to clean up my mess and see if Lestrade has any cases for me.


	2. Chapter 2

As I was walking up the stairs I heard the cupboard being opened the tell-tale signs of getting a dustpan and broom. I smiled to myself because that meant that I wouldn't have a wound on the bottom of my foot tomorrow morning. It humbles me to know I was the one to domesticate Sherlock.

I flop onto my bed and find I can't actually fall asleep now. I think that the nap had stimulated me enough for another hour or so. 'Well I guess then I'll just laze around up here,' I thought to myself. If I went back downstairs Sherlock would question me, and despite my wakefulness right now, I'm not up for that.

I stare at the ceiling, my hand searching for my pillow that seems to have recently captured Sherlock's fascination. I wrap my hand around the white casing and pull it to my side to cuddle while day dreaming.

I have always thought that day dreaming helped cure my anxiety and stress. It gave me a distraction from my regular life and allowed me to relax my shoulder. Cases usually help with the need for a rush, and they did fix my limp after all. But lately they're lacking something that I can't quite make out. 'Making out,' I think to myself. 'There's a couple of girls I wouldn't mind making out with, but I think that there is a certain _man_ I wouldn't mind at all. A certain consulting detective.'

I turn to my side to slide up to the pillow and stuff my face in it. _Sherlock_. That complete wanker. I fancy him, sure, not quite love yet. It hasn't been long enough for _that_. certainly not. I hadn't loved Sarah, either. I think she realized how strong the connection Sherlock and I have. I mean, I was the only one to be able to stand him for more than a few hours at a time without exploding. Hell, I've lived with him for about 6 months now.

On the anniversary - Sherlock's doing, not mine - he looked at his watch and to me and back about two times, I bet wondering whether to inform me or not, eventually he did. "John," he looked up for the third time. I flicked the paper down to look at his face gorgeous face mind you, above mine. He stared at me for a few seconds, took a deep breath with his eyes closed, and quickly muttered, "sixth month anniversary, plus a few seconds, but close enough for you." He then turned on his heel and went back to his room.

It was always odd how he comes in, looks around, finally look at me, tells me what he thought I'd want to know, then leave or go back to my laptop. It's frustrating, but sometimes I can get a glance of his ass when he stalks off. It always gets me fired up and then I have to strategically hide it with the paper. Terribly inconvenient but worth the wank later.

Speaking of wanking, my erection just twitched against the pillow, the memories are too clear. I sat up, still straddling the pillow and took off my shirt. It wasn't that uncomfortable because it's spring so it isn't terribly cold, as it was in the winter.

My trousers then came off, I decided to keep my pants on for the convenience of things. I reached for the tissues that were off to the side, putting them at the head of the bed. My clothes were crumpled along the floor, I'll have to move them later or else I'll trip and hurt myself, being the clumsy being I am.

Reaching down I lightly stroked along the outline of my erect cock, groaning softly at the friction, but I needed more. I reached my hand in and gripped my leaking erection, hard. Moaning louder I had to bite my lip so Sherlock didn't hear me downstairs.

I plunged my hand inside, I was eager to get to catch a few hours of actual sleep so I needed this to end quickly. Even though I am now a full grown man, I still get erections at the most inopportune times. I pressed the nail of my thumb lightly into the slit in the head, a bead of pre-cum sliding down my length. I groaned and threw my head back in ecstasy.

I thought of shoving Sherlock against a wall, pushing inside roughly with no preparation what-so-ever and thrusting like a mad man into his tight heat. I just barely hear Sherlock moaning and thrashing around in his purple shirt, trying to get purchase against the wall. I can feel him giving up and grabbing my neck roughly to bring his lips to mine and he finally releases. I can feel him tightening around me and I'm through, I cum all over my hand and my pillow.

I sigh as I come down from my high. I reach over to grab a few tissues to clean up after myself. I wiped down the pillow and my hand. After, I threw them away and collapsed onto my mattress. I lay staring at the ceiling.

I sat thinking about our relationship. Sherlock and I had quite an interesting relationship. True, we both had our fair share of experimentation in college, but I had dismissed it and stayed true to my previous label, straight. That was _until_ I had met Sherlock.

His name meaning fair-haired, his high cheekbones, and those legs -_oh god those legs_. My favorite part of him is his legs. They seem like twigs but then he runs, you can tell, even beneath those dress trousers, there are muscles there. I can almost feel them, tensing and relaxing in my grip as - _honestly John, what is wrong with you, you just jacked off, calm down._

I can honestly say, ever since the war, I have absolutely no self control at all. Especially when it comes to Sherlock. He didn't help with my self control either. He'd annoy me to no end and he would always invade my personal space. He legitimately didn't understand but it'd still get on my nerves. Now I just accept it, but try to hide my reactions, such as an erection - _John, for fucks sake, sto- _"p thinking about that before you have to go to bed."

I quickly swivel around, snatching up my trousers on the way. "Oh my god, Sherlock! When did you get _in here_?! Haven't you heard of knocking, you twat?"

"I was here when you started to clean up after yourself. Oh, and John?"

"Yes?"

"I cleaned up the glass in the kitchen and it's in the rubbish bin."

* * *

I turned to leave, seeing that John's face is getting progressively redder. I know it's because I walked in on a particularly intimate moment, between him and his hand.

"Sherlock, wait." I turn to see him studying me intensely.

"Why did you come in? Why did you bother tell me that? I heard the glass break and the door to the cabinet with the dust pan and brush."

"I just wanted to personally let you know." I uncharacteristically scratched the back of my head, seemingly embarrassed.

"Sherlock." That was his warning voice.

My own face felt a bit warm, meaning my face was also turning red. "Yes, John?" I look to the ground to get out of looking him in the eyes, my hand resting on the back of my neck.

"Sherlock. Why did you come in here?" He sounded angry now.

"I told you just a few seconds ago, John." I looked to the wall.

He hummed, "And that blush? Why can't you look me in the eye?" He was playing coy.

"When did you take up deduction, John?" I looked out the window above John's bed and studied the gray sky overhead.

"When I feel like I'm being lied to." He stated with his arms crossed.

I nod and look at his legs. They're a bit stubby, but that just seems to add to his attractiveness. I huffed, "John, I'm not lying to you, I have no reason to."

"But there's something you're not telling me. Why else would you come up here while you _obviously_ knew what I was doing?"

I stuttered. _I do __**not**_ _stutter._ "But John -"

"Come here you clotpole, I know." He knows what? His arms are beckoning me over to his place on the bed.

"I am not moving any closer unless I know for a fact that your bed is clean and you put on your trousers." Just because I like John, doesn't mean I am willing to go that far, yet. And I don't like sticky things. I might be convinced to like _his_ sticky fluids. Maybe.

"You saw me clean up, and I washed the sheets earlier today. Come here"

I motion to his legs, "But no trousers yet."

"Turn around and I can fix that." He said with a little turning motion. I didn't want to let John change his mind, so I complied and waited.

"There we go, trousers on. Now come here before I change my mind." I hesitantly walk over and stand by his place on the bed.

With a sigh John reached over and took hold of my wrist, and pulled me into his lap. I sat there, awkwardly shifting my legs around to find a comfortable position, until he pulled me down and spooned me. I stiffened, preferring to be the big spoon, mostly because I was taller, so I turned over. John didn't seem to mind, but he did sigh a little. I tightened my arms around him to pull his body closer, so I could kiss his nose. But he moved and _oh my god, is he kissing me?!_

* * *

I pushed my lips to Sherlock's and he immediately froze up. I kept my lips to his because it could either be from disgust or from shock. I was desperately hoping for shock. But then he started kissing back with an intensitythat I didn't know he had.

I pushed him back so he was flat on his back. I had my eyes closed, so I couldn't tell what his face was like, but I could imagine him kissing back with his eyes wide open. The gears behind them turning, trying to figure out why we were kissing. I moved my hands to his hips and pulled my head back an inch or two.

The gears were turning and it was a sight to see. His face was as stoic as ever, but I could tell he had enjoyed that brief moment we shared. His eyes lit up in understanding.

"I'm attracted to you," he made it seem like a revelation.

"That's not new information, Sherlock," I murmured.

"It is to me, John."

"How new? A day? Week? I've known for about," I thought for a second. "Since a month after I moved in."

"An hour maybe, I'm not as _in-touch _with my emotions as most people,"

"Well that's fairly new isn't it." I let my lips caress his neck.

He hums and circles his arms around my neck and brings his lips to my ear.

"Omelette du fromage."

"What the fuck, Sherlock." I say, I have studied the French language enough to know what ordering breakfast sounds like.

"I thought you'd enjoy to hear me say something in French," he leans his head back against the pillow.

"Well, now that you mention it, I am in the mood for a bit of breakfast."

"Don't be silly John, it's too late to get breakfast."

"You were taught to cook, weren't you. By your mother?"

"John. I'm a terrible cook. besides you just ate."

"I'd like some brunch. Please Sherlock, I know you've cooked for yourself. And wanking and not getting a nap makes me hungry. and you disturbed my nap."

"Fine." He huffs as he sits up to go cook.

I kiss his nose and jump off the bed to let him get up.

* * *

I watch John bound down the stairs in a hurry. Apparently wanking takes all the nutrition right out of your system.

I sigh as I slowly stand and stretch out. I've been told I look like a cat, but their bone structures are completely different, so I don't know how people come to that conclusion.

I dismiss it as I descend down the stairs into the kitchen where I see John making tea for two.

* * *

**A/N: Anything needing fixing, please tell me! And thanks for reading!**


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